twice a year
Grandpa Jeff
would visit
Holroyds & Sons

the finest men’s
tailor shop
in the north
of England

(or so the battered sign
affirmed above the door)

there’s something about
a finely coutured piece
of cloth

he’d proclaim

in his finest tweed
whilst resting the needle
on Buddy Holly & The Crickets
and fingering
the sleeve

now there’s a group of men
who knew a decent tailor

he’d say again

before packing a pipe
& disappearing in a puff
of tobacco smoke

we buried him
ten years ago

& each year
I find myself
more & more
our hunger
for convenience

the off the rack suits

those MP3 downloads
at a click of button

the knock-off tobacco
bought from the lad
down the road

Grandpa Jeff
was laid to rest
with his only wife

my father
is still alive
with three
(a forth
on the boil)

& I just
fuck around